


Prayers to Broken Stone

by Tedronai



Series: The End of an Age [8]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Age of Legends, Gen, The Collapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It has to be this way,” Elan whispers, his voice hoarse, the first sign that the Betrayer of Hope is still human, perhaps even the man Barid used to know.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers to Broken Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Finale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finale/gifts).



> If this sounds familiar, it's likely because the first third or so has been posted on Tumblr months ago. I was looking for something quick to write and found this in the WIP folder, and here we go.

Barid almost doesn’t pick up when the callbox buzzes and Lews’ ID flashes on the screen; they have not had much to say to each other since Lews’ marriage. In a way, that is what makes him change his mind. Lews would not call him if it wasn’t important.

"What is it?" he says, unable to quite rein in the contempt in his voice.

For a wonder, the First Among the Servants makes no comment about the tone. “Barid…” Lews’ voice is heavy; he sounds exhausted. “It’s Elan.”

Barid’s breath catches in his throat. He has dreaded this call at so many points of his life, but now it takes him by surprise; Elan has seemed fine, lately. Of course, Barid knows from prior experience that such things can deteriorate quickly. “When?” he asks. His own voice sounds distant to his ears.

"Maybe half an hour ago, it took me that long to get everybody calmed down—" Lews cuts off abruptly. "Oh. Light, sorry. He’s not dead. He’s not dead."

"Oh thank the Light," Barid murmurs — but then Lews speaks again.

"I could almost wish he was." There is bitter anger in the First’s voice, mingled with grief and disbelief.

Barid almost can’t bring himself to voice the obvious question. “What… do you mean?”

A heartbeat of silence. “He has declared allegiance to… to what he calls the Great Lord of the Dark.”

Barid sits heavily down on the edge of his bed. He feels as though he has been punched in the gut, the air knocked out of him. _Elan…_

"Barid?" Lews’ voice seems to come from somewhere very far away. "Dammit, man, are you still there?"

 _This has to be some kind of a mistake._ The sentence echoes in his head, keeps trying to form in his mouth but he swallows it; he knows better. “I’m here,” he says eventually, not even caring that Lews must hear his voice crack.

There’s something almost hesitant about the silence that follows. “Barid, I… I’m sorry,” Lews says after a while, the condolences sounding awkward in a voice more used to laughing and jesting and heated debates. “He may try to contact you. I know you two were close, and he might think it would be easy to turn you against… the Hall.”

Barid says nothing; what could he possibly say? If Elan should show up at his door, could he kill him? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to have to find out. He doesn’t want any of this to be happening.

"I’m sorry," Lews repeats, but his voice is already taking on a more business-like tone. "I wish I could give you more time but I really need you here right now. He may have been the first but I’ve a feeling he won’t be the last. This is going to escalate quickly once the word gets out."

"Of course," Barid says dully. "Can you… Give me fifteen minutes? I’ll be there in fifteen."

"Alright," Lews replies curtly, his attention clearly elsewhere already by the time he ends the call.

 

Barid closes his eyes and bows his head. _Elan, why?_ He thinks he can guess the answer, or at least parts of it, as much as anyone has ever been able to understand Elan. Lews’ words echo in his head — _He’s not dead. I could almost wish he was._ — and he wants to weep, to scream, to find some release for the pain constricting his chest so that he can barely breathe.

But he can’t. There’s no time.

In exactly fifteen minutes he gets up, grabs his coat and Travels to Paraan Disen.

 

* * *

 

 _This is ridiculous_ , Barid wants to say. _What are we, primitives who are afraid of the printed word?_ But he watches in silence as another gateway opens and a young Aes Sedai stumbles through with an armful of books. Into the fire they go, every copy that can be found of every book ever written by Elan Morin Tedronai. Barid watches them burn with an odd sense of detachment, as though this is all happening to someone else.

Lews Therin Telamon, the First among the Servants, walks among the crowd, patting a shoulder here, speaking a few quiet words of encouragement there. The people he passes seem to take heart in his unfailing determination, drawing strength from his solid presence. Even now, at a moment when petty rivalries should be the furthest thing from his mind, Barid can’t help feeling a flash of envy. These same people could be looking to him for guidance and leadership, if not for the series of ridiculous strokes of luck that had landed Lews in the position of the First instead of Barid. If he was _needed_ the way Lews was, maybe he could snap out of this daze, maybe he could set his grief aside and focus on helping those he still could help, maybe he could stop feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest, maybe he could _stop feeling_ —

Lews walks up to him and stops. There’s soot on his face and his blue-and-crimson robes of the office. When he looks at Barid, his back to the crowd, the facade of unshakable confidence crumbles and the pain in his eyes is as raw as that which Barid knows must be reflected in his own. For a while the two former friends simply stare at one another in silence, in perfect understanding.

 

“How are you holding up?” They both speak up to break the silence at the same time. Lews actually chuckles, the sound forced and hollow, and Barid’s answering smile is closer to a grimace. Lews nods, any semblance of mirth draining from his face.

“Why would he do this?” the First asks, not really expecting an answer, wanting one regardless, desperately needing to make sense of the senseless situation. “He was fine the last time I saw him. I don’t understand…”

Barid shakes his head, swallowing a bitter bark of laughter. “How would you know?” he demands. “Did he perhaps _tell_ you? Do you imagine he’d ever say he _wasn’t_ fine? You were never—!” He cuts off at the stricken look on Lews’ face.

“I was never what?” Lews asks quietly. There is no challenge in his voice, just sadness and bone-deep exhaustion. “Barid?”

“ _You were never there!_ ” Barid realises that he has raised his voice, but he can’t find the will to tone it down. “You weren’t there when he tried to kill himself! You were never there when he needed help! Light knows I wasn’t enough, I wasn’t qualified, but I was all he had!” He knows he’s being unfair and he doesn’t care; it helps a little, to give voice to some of the frustration that has been building up for so long. The past twenty-four hours have just been the last drop.

When Lews speaks again, his voice is strained. “Barid, I have loved you like a brother. You and Elan both. But I will not stand here and take the blame for something I couldn’t possibly know about when neither of you bothered to keep in touch.” He hesitates. “I appreciate that you came, but perhaps you shouldn’t have. We need to try to contain the damage his _declaration_ has caused and you…” He shakes his head in exasperation. “I am sorry, Barid, but right now you’re not helping.”

“And that,” Barid gestures towards the pyre, “is helping? We’re _burning books_ , Lews Therin! How does that help at all?” He doesn’t realise that in his anger he slipped into the formal mode of address until he notices the look on Lews’ face.

“These people are angry,” Lews says. “They’re frightened. They need to see action being taken.”

“But burning books?!” _Elan’s books, Elan’s life’s work._

“Most of the people here would prefer to see the Betrayer himself burned along with his blasphemy.” Lews shakes his head sadly.

Barid knows Lews is right and that leaves very little for him to say. In the end he doesn’t have to say anything; Lews takes his silence for exactly what it is and turns away with a grimace. As he strides away, Barid can see his posture change, the grieving friend taking the backseat again; the First Among the Servants has things to do. Barid wishes Lews didn’t make it look so easy. He wonders if Lews is right and he should just go home.

 

“Barid,” a soft, feminine voice says on his left, and Barid nearly flees; he can’t be dealing with sympathy right now. But he turns to look at Ilyena anyway, the beautiful, dear face haggard. Elan had been her friend, too. In past tense, as though he was already dead. _He might as well be, as far as Lews is concerned._ The thought is uncharitable and he knows it, but he doesn’t have the energy to truly be sorry.

“He’s upset,” Ilyena continues, ever the perceptive one. “He can’t afford to show it, he needs to act according to his station… Light, he needs to act his age and for once in his life he’s not doing a bad job of it. But he does love Elan almost as much as you do.”

Barid can’t help but acknowledge the truth in her words; he knows Lews too well to pretend otherwise. “Remind me again, why did you marry him? You deserve so much better.”

Ilyena Sunhair arches a skeptical eyebrow. “Like you?”

“No,” Barid is surprised to find that he actually means it, “you deserve so much better than any of us human disasters.”

Ilyena smiles, a sad but genuine expression, and briefly lays a hand on his arm. “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.”

Barid inhales deeply, trying not to show how he’s very nearly undone by a few kind words. He’s not sure he can bring himself to agree with Ilyena’s words, but he doesn’t want to deny them either. As he looks for something to say — hoping his voice doesn’t betray him — he notices that the crowd around the bonfire has grown considerably thinner and no more books seem to be coming in. Instead people are leaving through gateways, their faces set with determination. Lews is having what looks like a heated exchange with two of the Sitters, but in the end he nods curtly and follows the two through a gateway.

“Where are they going?” Barid mutters, not really expecting and answer — not expecting Ilyena to know — but the look on her face turns even sadder, if that’s even possible.

“They’ve been trying to talk Lews into allowing it, and looks like they got their way,” she says.

“Where?” Barid repeats.

Ilyena looks up at him before answering. “The Morin manor.”

Barid doesn’t understand at first. “The Morin manor?” he repeats incredulously. “Surely they don’t expect to find him there?” Then, even as Ilyena shakes her head, the dots connect. Burning books. Morin manor. Elan’s books. Elan’s library. _Of course. It’s a lot easier to set the entire house on fire than carry all those books back here_ , he thinks numbly. Only the stricken look of confirmation on Ilyena’s face tells him that he’s spoken out loud.

“Barid, there’s nothing you can do.” Her voice is frantic, almost pleading. “You’ll only get into trouble yourself.”

“There’s always something I can do!” he retorts, unable to accept that there might not be. “I can’t let this happen! I can’t just—!”

“It’s just books!” She’s shouting now, and that makes him realise that he had raised his voice as well. She’s staring at him, blue eyes fierce. Realising that she has gotten through to him, she lowers her voice again and continues, more calmly, “They’re just books. They’re not Elan. Saving his library isn’t going to help him.”

For an absurd, bewildered moment Barid isn’t so sure. Maybe, if he stopped this madness, if he was just able to stop this thing from happening, somehow he could make it all right. But only a moment. Desperately scrambling for a semblance of hope he latches onto something she said. “Do you… do you think there is a way to help him?” he asks. “He’s…” He can’t finish the sentence. _A traitor. A servant of the Dark. Light, how long?_

Ilyena shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know,” she replies. “I really do not know.”

“It’s alright,” Barid says, trying to sound reassuring, then realising how absurd the effort is. Nothing is alright, but Ilyena smiles and that alone makes him feel slightly less desperate. “If I get the chance, I’m going to try to talk to him,” Barid continues.

Ilyena nods, as though she never expected anything less. “Be careful,” she says simply, not trying to talk him out of it. She likely knows it would be a wasted effort.

Barid forces a rueful smile. “’Careful’ is my middle name.”

 

* * *

 

The apartment block is in a decidedly mundane part of the city; the rent is cheap and most of the residents are recently graduated from the Academy. Barid believes he’s the only one who knows Elan still has this flat. After all, why would Elan Morin own a flat in a place like this? But Barid has known Elan for too long, has had to find him too many times when the other man has fallen off the radar and cut all communication. And now, standing in the hall outside the door he knows Elan is there, he doesn’t know how he knows — this is not the only place where Elan could be — but he does.

He has put this off too long already. When there’s no answer to the doorbell — not that he ever expected one — he Travels in.

Elan is standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, looking at Barid with weary eyes. “You actually rang the doorbell,” he says in way of greeting. “Might as well have called in advance. I could be anywhere by now.”

The sight of him hits Barid like a hammer between the eyes. “But you aren’t.” He forces the words out, surprised at the steadiness of his voice. “Why?”

Elan shrugs. “Curiosity?” he offers. “What do you want of the Betrayer of Hope?”

Barid flinches at the name; Elan appears to wear it like armour. “I was hoping to talk to Elan,” he says finally. “You know. My friend.”

The other man regards him for a long while in silence. “They won’t use that name anymore. Why do you insist?”

“Because I am your friend,” Barid replies, trying to keep desperation from creeping into his voice. “Because I care, even if you don’t. Elan, please. You don’t have to do this. We can still fix this.” Elan says nothing. “Please come with me,” Barid continues, hoping for a reaction, anything other than the impassive mask staring back at him, barely blinking. “Ilyena will help us. We’ll talk to Lews, and the Hall. You can come backt, it’s not too late.” He keeps talking, barely aware what he’s saying, he just knows that stopping will mean admitting defeat, admitting that there was never any chance of success to begin with and he can’t face it. He can’t.

He’s not sure when he started crying. He’s not sure when he raised his voice, but suddenly he realises that he’s shouting and sobbing, pleading and accusing and everything in between, to no avail. The man standing before him isn’t Elan anymore. Barid crumbles, he falls to his knees and doubles over, barely able to draw breath for the grief overwhelming him.

And then he feels a hand on his shoulder; Elan crouches beside him and pulls him into an embrace. “It has to be this way,” Elan whispers, his voice hoarse, the first sign that the Betrayer of Hope is still human, perhaps even the man Barid used to know. “You don’t believe me now, Barid, but it has to be.” He doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer so Barid offers none, instead leaning into his friend — former friend? — and trying to regain control of himself. It seems to take forever before he’s able to calm his breathing, to stop the tears. The silence is deafening.

It takes half an eternity more until Elan — reluctantly, it seems — lets go of him and stands up again. “Don’t try to find me again,” he says, talking to the wall somewhere above Barid’s head. “Not until you’re ready to join us.” He doesn’t ask; he knows what Barid’s answer would be. _Never._ Yet he sounds utterly certain that the day will come. “I would not enjoy having to destroy you.” Pause. Then, in a weary voice, “Please. Please don’t make me do that.”

Barid doesn’t answer. He has nothing to say. He’s not sure he’ll ever speak again, and right now he can’t bring himself to care. He doesn’t care if he never gets up from the floor, if he never leaves this apartment. He doesn’t care.

When he looks up again, Elan is gone.


End file.
